Thirteen Steps to the End of the World
by aeternium
Summary: Anakin now said, 'Yes, master,' 'No, master,' and 'I’m sorry, master,' more than he ever had in his life, because there was nowhere to take refuge at the end of the day." The thirteen moments no one would have ever thought led to his fall.


**one.**

Anakin passed out sooner than most would under that kind of assault, because he was small, but later than most his age, because he was strong. Shmi didn't know whether to be more terrified for her son, crumpled on the floor like that with his arm sticking out at an angle it definitely wasn't supposed to, or for herself, now that the guard had taken care of the minor interruption and was turning back to finish what he started.

She held his bruised head in her lap and ran her fingers through his dirty hair once the Zeltron finished with her. She hushed his murmured apologies and inwardly cursed the life that made her four-year-old son think he had to protect her, when she was his _mother_, damn it, and she was supposed to be able to do that for both of them.

**two.**

He'll look back on it years later and wince, but at the time it seemed a natural question.

Hair sleek and shiny, as though washed only that morning, and with _actual water_, too; hands uncallused, unblemished, and no sand or grit under the nails; skin soft and fair, free of the twin suns' relentless fury. He'd never seen anything like her. Girls just didn't _come_ like that on Tatooine. Truthfully, Anakin wasn't even sure she _was_ a girl at all.

And so it seemed only natural to ask.

"Are you an angel?"

**three.**

"You've never won a race? Not even _finished?_"

Oh, this was not good. Not good at all. Padmé briefly entertained the idea of smacking the kid, but then remembered that she hated violence, and that he would probably never trust her again if she did.

But still. There they were, pinning Naboo's future, their mere ability to leave the planet, _everything_ on him and this race while her people suffered more with each passing day, if Sabé's reports were correct. And not only had he never finished a race, he'd very conveniently forgotten to ever mention it. He _lied_ to them. It had been nothing but "only human who can do it" and "fastest ever" until his friend mentioned that little fact.

Then came the voice. Padmé _hated_ that little voice, the one she'd developed almost the moment she'd assumed office in Theed, the one that left her powerless to judge other people for their deception, because wasn't that exactly what she was doing herself?

"Kitster's right, I'll do it this time."

Padmé closes her eyes, hoping to Kiavé that he's right, and lets it go.

**four.**

Anakin didn't trust Master Yoda or Master Windu, or indeed anyone on the Jedi Council. It wasn't because they had originally rejected him for training, or that they spoke and behaved in ways that initially bewildered the young boy. No, it wasn't that, because they'd changed their minds about him eventually and he'd gotten used to their silences and, in one special case, their utterly baffling syntax.

It was… the rank itself. Anakin had long ago decided that freedom meant never having to say, "Yes, master." He'd said it directly to Gardulla only once when he'd been under her ownership, but her guards got a kick out of making him address them the same way, and had ways of enforcing it. He'd first tasted freedom when he and his mother were finally sold, and not just because they had privacy for the first time in his life. Anakin said, "Yes, master," "No, master," and "I'm sorry, master," to his face, but at home it was always Watto. Home was a little pocket of freedom, because there were no masters there, only he and his mom and a flimsy façade of security.

Mom had told him not to look back, but the Jedi Temple didn't feel like home. Anakin now said, "Yes, master," "No, master," and "I'm sorry, master," more than he ever had in his life, because there was nowhere to take refuge at the end of the day. Obi-Wan was different, though not by much, because he was a master who said, "Yes, master," to his face and "Yoda" in their apartment, and so he had Anakin's trust.

The Council never would. They were the Masters, and they were in charge. They didn't realize that others didn't have the freedom they had. They didn't realize how easily they could hurt those they ruled.

**five.**

When Obi-Wan first briefed him on their new assignment, his stomach flipped. Ten years was a long time. Was she still the gentle handmaiden who had comforted a little boy who missed his mother? Did she even remember that boy? Anakin knew it was against the Jedi code to harbor attachments, but he still thought of – wait… then anger took over. _Rage_.

This wasn't just a reunion. This was about protecting Padmé. He would have done it anyway, done it in an instant, but now the threat was so bad that he was actually being assigned to do it. She had already thwarted another assassination attempt just that morning.

Who would _do_ something like that? Anakin knew the facts, of course – it was some act in the senate they were after. But how couldn't they see that Padmé wasn't just an act or an idea? She was a person, an _angel_, all that was good and pure in the corrupt world of politics, yet someone was so blind to –

"Padawan, are you even listening to me?"

"Yes, of course, master."

But he wasn't. Anakin was already wondering just how much information Madam Nu might have on Padmé's traditional opposition in the senate.

**six.**

Beneath his feet, Naboo stops turning. The angel that moves within him is still soft, and smooth, and unblemished, and fair, and _everything everything everything _he hasn't known in ten years, and finally he remembers that this is what home feels like.

**seven.**

"_You're not all-powerful, Ani."_

He knows. He _knows_. But that's not good enough. Because it means that he's still not free. Because he still had to stay with Obi-Wan, because he told him to, because he's his master, because he's in charge.

"_Well, I should be."_

Because he was supposed to protect her. But he messed up, and he left, and now Mom's gone and he'll never see her again. She'll never be free now, because he can't free her if she's dead.

"_Someday I will be the most powerful Jedi ever. I promise you. I will even learn to stop people from dying."_

Because he can't make the same mistake twice.

**eight.**

Padmé asked if he could escort her back to Naboo one last time. Now that they knew just who was after her, royal security was far-better equipped to handle the situation, and both Anakin and Obi-Wan would shortly be needed on the front lines, anyway. She was examining his arm – the new prosthetic one that doesn't seem at all real – when he mentioned it. Marriage was all pomp and circumstance on other systems, as Anakin knew very well, but it wasn't the same on Tatooine (not on _his_ Tatooine), so he had to explain.

This was how it worked: You felt it, you _knew_ what was supposed to be, but you said nothing. It was too much of a risk, because they could be gone the next day. But they weren't, if you were lucky, and eventually they knew it, too. But still you did nothing outside of silent acknowledgement. No one did much unnecessary talking on Tatooine anyway, not about the obvious. Ceremonies weren't allowed, nothing official. But there always came that defining moment you passed together, and afterwards you simply knew what had come to pass. You may never live together, and one of you may be ripped away and never be seen again, but you were still bound for life.

Anakin couldn't say it in so many words, but he thought she understood. War was closer than the horizon now, but his childhood had prepared him for this marriage. As long as they both knew that he was hers and she was his, that was enough.

Though he still laughed and agreed when Padmé insisted on a Naboo wedding, too.

**nine.**

It's not Rotta's fault. It's not Rotta's fault. _It's not Rotta's fault._

Except it is.

Ahsoka doesn't understand why he hates the Huttlet so much, and he won't give her a reason. The smell alone would be more than enough to account for it, but Anakin won't let him get off that easily.

For the first time in years, Anakin is very much aware of his tunic chafing against the faint white lines that stripe his back, almost vanished now; the finger on his left hand that doesn't bend properly because the smashed joint fused together as it healed; the scar on his elbow, a reminder of a cracked bone when he was four, courtesy of a Zeltron guard.

Rotta's more than a Hutt. He's more even than Gardulla's nephew. He's a reminder of everything Anakin ever wanted to forget, and a reminder that he _can't_ forget it, not while he remains a Jedi.

There's someone who calls him master now, but that's not enough. That's still not enough to keep his promise.

**ten.**

No. No. _No._

He put his head in his hands and pressed in hard, because there was nothing coherent in his thoughts other than that huge, resounding _No._

Not like before, not like the last time.

They were having a baby, creating proof of their love for each other, and nothing was going to get in the way of that. He had just spent the happiest hours of his life – Padmé's beautiful worry when she told him he was going to be a father, the graceful swell of her stomach made evident when they returned to her apartment, the miraculous kicks of life in response to his gentle kisses… her laugh when he said no, because he didn't want to hurt their child.

Then her scream echoed in his mind once more and Anakin knew that he should have known it wouldn't last.

_No_.

He couldn't mess up this time. Padmé and their child were his, his forever. He had to protect them.

**eleven.**

He knew that he sounded like a child. He _knew_, but it didn't matter. Because he had never trusted the Council to begin with, but it never occurred to Anakin that they didn't trust _him._

But this wasn't about him. This wasn't about any of them – not Obi-Wan, not Master Windu, not even Palpatine. This was about Padmé, who was going to die, who he was going to lose, who he was going to fail all over again because he was powerless to help her.

Except that this _was_ about him. This _was_ about the Council. They didn't understand, because they had the freedom not to care. They didn't know what it was to be powerless. They didn't know what it was to be denied everything you'd ever wanted time and time again.

"_How can you be on the Council and not be a master?"_

Obi-Wan looked away, disgusted, and Anakin understood then that he'd been the same as them all along.

**twelve.**

Little Luke (though Ani insists that it's _Leia_, in honor of something his mother used to say to him) is getting too big for Padmé to be much use in bed, so Anakin takes the lead and kisses his way down the swell of her stomach to the dark curls below. They lie on top of the sheets afterwards, still feverish and bare, Anakin's leg slung awkwardly over hers as he draws reverent lines over her belly with his finger.

"I saw Senator Mothma leaving before I arrived."

"Just some busywork."

"Mm."

A moment passes.

"Ani, are you alright?"

"I'm… I'm fine."

"You aren't still worried about those dreams, are you?"

Another moment passes.

"No. Not anymore."

She lets it go, because she's been deceiving him, too.

**thirteen.**

It's easy to give up your freedom when you never had it in the first place.

_It's for Leia_, he tells himself. _It's for Padmé. They'll understand._


End file.
